


what a harbor i've become (i never know what's enough)

by enbyofdionysus



Series: the self-indulgent fics [13]
Category: Call Down The Hawk - Fandom, Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Incest, M/M, Matthew is a service verse and I won't let anyone tell me otherwise, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26571310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enbyofdionysus/pseuds/enbyofdionysus
Summary: Declan's always working so hard. Matthew decides to help him relax the best way he knows how.
Relationships: Declan Lynch/Matthew Lynch
Series: the self-indulgent fics [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/908256
Comments: 8
Kudos: 21





	what a harbor i've become (i never know what's enough)

**Author's Note:**

> Your beloved cursed fic writer is back at it again. Please read the tags. By clicking on this fic, you're consenting to read this and if reading this upsets you that's on you, not me.
> 
> A note on the canon-divergence for this fic: This is set the year after Matthew turns 18 (our boy is a canon Sagittarius) but before Call Down the Hawk has happened. Declan's apartment is still secure and Matthew still doesn't know about himself. 
> 
> Another note of canon-divergence regarding character ages -- Maggie has mentioned that character birthdays and ages shift around in her books because it's hard to keep track of. In Call Down the Hawk, Ronan turns 19 on November 1, and Matthew's set to turn 18 that December. But because Ronan dreamt Matthew when he was two and I can't see a one-year-old dreaming another baby, I decided to make Ronan 20 in this fic.
> 
> One more note on canon-divergence: I know it's out of character for Declan to call Matthew "Matt," but Matthew seriously needs a nickname. Imagine always calling someone "William."

The D.C. apartment is quiet when Declan gets home from work that Friday. He allows himself the luxury of sagging against the door for a moment to bask in it. Matthew isn't home for another hour, safe in a public place, and Ronan is secure at the Barns. 

He sighs.

The bottle of red wine on the counter catches his eye as he unties his brogues. He thinks of indulging in a glass, but the desire is severed by a darker thought: Declan, intoxicated, unable to defend himself against a silent intruder; Matthew, coming home and getting shot, kidnapped, bludgeoned. 

Declan closes his eyes. 

Loosens his tie.

Heads for the living room.

By the time Matthew comes thundering through the front door like a self-contained hurricane, Declan has managed to make his way through half his Comparative Politics reading for class. His eyes are tired, jaw tense, and he jumps when Matthew slaps a friendly hand on his back.

"Hey, dude!" Matthew chirps. He's sweaty from lacrosse practice, golden curls plastered to his forehead, and despite his t-shirt and jean jacket he smells like a boys' locker room: an intense cloud of sharp cologne and an undercurrent of body odor. "How was work?"

Declan grimaces. "There are showers at the school for a reason, Matthew."

Matthew laughs. He dumps his backpack on the couch beside Declan's textbooks before clambering over the back of the couch to join it.

Declan feels his soul leave his body. " _Shoes_ , Matt!"

"Oops, haha." Matthew fumbles to pull his backpack out from under him and take his shoes off at the same time. Sneakers go sailing across the room. "How was work, though?"

Declan thinks about his manager's snide comments about his work ethic at his internship, how he would need to put in more effort despite the fact that Declan was doing his best. Every moment he spent scanning documents, checking documents, copying documents, assembling documents, binding documents, and stacking booklets of documents into boxes to be carried off to the lawyers upstairs made him wish it had been _his_ body Ronan had found in the driveway.

"It was work," Declan says, but he can't keep the exhaustion out of his voice. Matthew picks up on it instantly. The frown looks strange on his adonic face.

"When's the last time you relaxed?" Matthew asks, moving out of the corner of his eye.

Declan rubs his eyes. He's really starting to re-think the red wine in the kitchen. To be smart he says, "October 31, twenty years ago."

It takes Matthew a minute too late to get it, but he laughs anyway. 

Declan blinks when he realizes his brother hasn't gotten up to get his sneakers, but has crouched down onto the floor in front of him instead. Frowning, he asks, "What are you doing?"

Matthew smiles cheerily up at him. "Helping you relax," he says. He puts his hands on Declan's knees. And then _slides_ them

up

his

thighs.

"Matthew," Declan starts, sitting upright. Shame grabs at him, sure that Matthew means something innocent, but _no --_ Matthew's right hand finds Declan through his slacks and gives him an amiable squeeze. Declan nearly knees his brother in the eye, pulling back and away. " _Matthew_ ," he says again.

"You're not relaxing," Matthew chides.

" _Matthew_ ," Declan says for a third time. "What are you _doing_ ?" But it's obvious, now, what Matthew's doing. His hands don't move away just because Declan is and the fact that he can remove Declan's belt so fast really should be alarming. _All of this_ is alarming. But he doesn't push Matthew away. Instead, he shrinks back against the couch, heart hammering in his chest. _Say stop_ , he thinks. _Say stop_.

"I do this for the guys on the team all the time," Matthew says, completely unaware of Declan's inner turmoil. His fingers expertly unbutton Declan's slacks and reach for the zipper. It's the most confident Declan's ever seen him. Well, that and the time a restaurant owner told him no one had ever finished Big Papa's Mighty Meatball Sub Challenge. But Declan isn't in the mood to see his little brother throw up behind a dumpster again because of his hubris.

Declan's hands cover Matthew's before he can tug the zipper down and Matthew looks up at him, curious and unabashed. "Matt," he begins.

"Oh," says Matthew. "Do you not want to? 'Cause that's okay."

But Declan doesn't take his hands off Matthew's hands. 

Instead, he swallows hard, settles down against the couch, and spreads his thighs. Matthew notices the difference and brightens instantly. Declan hates how happy that subtle shift in his brother's mood makes him. He'd do anything for Matthew.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Declan asks because he needs to.

Matthew's dimples dot his cheeks and then, _BAM_ , he gives his 1,000-megawatt smile. "Yeah, I got this. I can't wait to see your face, D. Jack says I'm, like, a pro."

"Jack?" Declan asks.

"Wilson," Matthew clarifies, "our co-captain." Before Declan even has a chance to process that information, Matthew tugs down his zipper and pulls back the elastic on his gray boxer-briefs. Declan feels like his heart is going to explode. "You're okay with this right?" Matthew asks, shifting his weight and getting comfortable on his knees. "If you want to stop or anything, just lemme know. Y'know, vibe check."

"What check? Oh, _god_."

There's no time between when Declan's cock leaves his underwear and when it enters Matthew's mouth. It's Big Papa's Mighty Meatball Sub Challenge all over again. Declan has a war flashback to the time Matthew declared he could deep-throat a hot dog and realizes with a mix of horror and fascination that he was right.

Matthew takes him down swift and easy, his lips like cushy pillows around his hardening cock, but he doesn't leave him at the back of his throat. He takes him down twice before covering the base of his cock with a warm hand and blanketing the underside of him with his tongue.

Any effort Declan had been making to school his features is obliterated the moment Matthew looks up at him, his Lynch blue eyes soft and familiar. Before he can stop himself, Declan reaches up and brushes Matthew's golden curls away from his forehead the way he's been doing for years. Matthew closes his eyes against the touch and then rewards Declan by running his tongue just along the underside of the tip of his cock. 

Declan shudders. 

Matthew makes note of the reaction. When he looks up at Declan again through his long lashes, his eyes are calculating in a way Declan's never seen before. 

It's true that Matthew never excelled in ways his brothers did. Despite trying his best, Matthew's grades in school are average, his music skills aren't great, and he recently failed his driver's test for the fourth time in a row. He loses interest too easily and forgets what he's saying. He forgets homework, has trouble reading, and cries when he thinks Declan's mad based just off an _inflection_ in his voice.

Declan had assumed Matthew's behavior was a side effect of being dreamt by a two-year-old. That he's just, for lack of a better word, a halfwit with a heart of gold. Ashley had once affectionately called him a himbo.

But _that look_.

How many times had Matthew's coaches told Declan that Matthew was a bear on the field? Maybe he and Ronan had spent so long seeing Matthew as a teddy bear that they hadn't noticed their baby brother, no longer a baby, wasn't as soft and dumb as they thought he was.

"You like that?" Matthew asks, and the surprising tone of his voice makes heat pool in Declan's groin. When he beams his megawatt smile again, there's more power in it than there was before. A sun god wearing a mortal's skin. "You can fuck my mouth if you want."

" _Jesus_ , Matt," Declan says, breathless.

Matthew laughs and then plants his left hand on Declan's abdomen while he takes him back into his mouth. It's slow, but it's good. Matthew applies just enough pressure with his right hand, gently twisting his wrist as he moves. His mouth, sweet and wet, is what makes Declan come undone. Matthew must know it. He uses his lips like a weapon, delicately pulling Declan's foreskin back and placing a sweet kiss to the spot where he's most sensitive. Declan squirms and lets out a desperate, " _Haa_ ," that makes Matthew's eyes dance with mirth.

Overcome, Declan says, " _Matthew_." It's a warning and when Matthew looks up at him, attentive, Declan suddenly feels ashamed. He delivers his confession in a rough, quiet voice. And then Matthew gently absolves him in his tender mouth.

When Matthew gently takes him from his mouth and tucks him back into his slacks, fingers nimbly re-buckling his belt, Declan feels somewhere else, outside his own body. He watches Matthew stand and thumb away the last of the evidence of the night from his bottom lip, sucking it from the pad of his finger. A moment of silence passes between them, filled only with Declan's heavy breaths.

Matthew asks, "Want to get a pizza?"

"A pizza." Declan presses the heels of his hands to his eyes.

"I'll pay for it."

"Matt, you can't spend all your inheritance on food."

"What else would I spend it on?" Matthew's already reaching to get his phone as if nothing at all had transpired between when he got home and now. There's not even a dent in his jeans. "We can watch that weird art documentary you've been wanting to see. The one about the French dude?"

"Italian," Declan gently corrects.

Matthew looks at him, expectant. "You want wings?"

Declan pauses. He thinks of the omeprazole he took that morning and the antacids in his bag. He nods.

Matthew makes a finger gun and begins to tap away at his phone.

"And breadsticks," Declan adds because he knows it'll make Matthew smile, and it does. Then, for the first time in a while, Declan relaxes against the couch.

**Author's Note:**

> [fox sitting on chair]
> 
> edit: in the part describing Matthew's behavior I was referencing my own ADHD -- it's meant to be a part calling out people that assume people with ADHD are "stupid" and "lazy" when really our brains just work differently


End file.
